The Sociopath and the Madman
by TimeyWimeyStuff10
Summary: The Doctor has been in and out of Sherlock's life for years, though Sherlock never knew it. But with the feeling of being followed and watched constantly growing, Sherlock can no longer ignore it, and seeks to find his 'stalker'. The Doctor just wants an intelligent companion, and to know why the TARDIS keeps bringing him back to Sherlock Holmes...
1. Chapter 1

(**Hello! I just wanted to make a note saying that this takes place before season 3 of Sherlock, so Moriarty is still around and all that. Also, the Doctor will be the tenth Doctor, just because I think his personality goes better with Sherlock's and such. Thanks for the read, I hope you enjoy! Please Let me know what I need to work on (Sherlock is really hard to write for, I've noticed) Any advice is welcome! Thank you!)**

Probably one of the strongest, unexplainable feelings one can have in the world is the feeling of being watched, and this is not a feeling that was unfamiliar to Sherlock Holmes. Fairly recently, of course, this feeling could be easily explained due to the fact that he almost always _was _being watched. Being a famous detective did have it's downfalls, after all (Sherlock practically scoffed at the thought of him being famous in any sort of way, but he did seem to be gaining more and more attention and he couldn't deny the facts he observed.) Still, the feeling seemed to be stronger than just strangers staring at him as he passed by-no, this particular feeling has been following him around for as long as he could remember.

For the longest time, Sherlock had just assumed that it was simply Mycroft watching him, as he always did, (too closely, he might add) but the feeling wasn't always consistent, and it happened even if the elder of the Holmes brothers was countless miles away for work or a vacation or whatever Mycroft wasted his time with. Of course this didn't mean that Mycroft didn't just simply hire someone else to keep an eye on him-as he has been known to attempt in the past-but Sherlock had always found out about it fairly quickly and avoided anyone that could possibly be keeping tabs on him for his brother. This was something...different. Something not even the great Sherlock Holmes could put his finger on...and quite frankly, it was becoming more nettlesome than he would care to admit.

"Sherlock! Have you been listening to anything I've said?"

Sherlock sighed and focused his attention on John, who appeared to be quite exasperated, not an expression that Sherlock wasn't used to seeing on his friend's face. It never really fazed him, so obviously it wouldn't now. Honestly, he never understood why John even bothered to give him that look. "Now, John, you and I both know that I wasn't, so what's the point in asking such a tedious, rhetorical question?" Sherlock could see John forcing his frustration down, honestly he was getting better at doing so, but one would think that he wouldn't even bother anymore after all this time; he should just be used to how Sherlock is and not get all fussed up about nothing. "I mean, obviously you weren't talking about anything of particular importance or interest to me, so why on earth should I be expected to listen to every syllable that comes out of your mouth?"

John opened his mouth, ready to scold Sherlock about being polite or something of that nature, but he closed it and sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He counted to ten mentally-something Sherlock was able to know he was doing every time he did it, based on his slow-breathing techniques (for calming) and the way he slightly moved his lips as he silently counted each number. Finally, John spoke, "You know, sometimes it amazes me how impossibly inconsiderate and rude you can be."

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together, and the slightest frown appeared on his face. Only John had the ability to make him feel even remotely guilty about being the way he is, and he hated that. "_I'm_ inconsiderate? You're the one prattling on and on about...whatever it is you were on about, when it's so obvious that I was in my mind palace. It's quite rude to pull me out of it, John, honestly." John sighed heavily, but said nothing, which meant, in Sherlock's mind, that he had won this argument-as he had won countless others-and the detective couldn't help but smile slightly in triumph. Little did he actually know, John had just learned when to give up, even if he was right and Sherlock was wrong, because it was just easier that way. After a moment or two of silence, Sherlock asked, "Well? Aren't you going to ask me _why _I was in my mind palace?"

"Are you going to ask me what I was trying to talk to you about?" John retorted.

"No"

"Then, no."

"Oh, come on, John!" Sherlock whined. He sometimes (often) reverted to childish ways and whining seemed to be a good way to get what he wanted out of John (simply because the ex military doctor found it so bloody annoying.) "You know as well as I do that whatever is going on in my head is much more interesting than what is going on in yours, so just ask me what I was thinking about."

"Nope." Sherlock frowned at that, which John seemed to find amusing, and John's amusement over Sherlock's distaste for his friend's lack of interest in what he was thinking about just bothered him even more.

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway, so deal with it." Sherlock stuck out his tongue briefly at his blogger before going on, knowing that John wasn't rude enough to not listen to him talk. "Someone has been following me...watching me..."

That did seem to catch's John's interest. "What, like, Moriarty? The police? Mycroft, what?" he questioned, leaning forward in his chair a bit.

Sherlock scoffed. "Please, John, I know it's difficult, but do use your brain, will you?" He sighed and continued before John could show how offended he was by that, "If I knew who it was or had any idea of who it was I would have stated so. Obviously I don't know since I said _someone _is watching me...besides...it's not thing first time I've been watched by this person...It's like they've been around my whole life, just sort of...I don't know, looking out for me?" Sherlock shook his head, tossing his dark curls around, making them bounce as he did so. "No, no, that's ridiculous. But still...it's not a bad thing, it's just always sort of been there...always the same. I'm certain it's not Mycroft or anything to do with him...I can tell when it's him."

John didn't know what to say at first. What could he say? His friend was claiming to have been watched by the same person his entire life, and he was sure that it wasn't his brother, so who could it be? Why would anyone follow Sherlock for so long? And how could they for so long, without Sherlock eventually figuring it all out? It sounded rather strange, but Sherlock was very rarely ever wrong about, well, anything, so John chose to believe him. "So...if this person has been following you your whole life...why are you just now mentioning this? Does Mycroft know?"

"Yes, Mycroft knows...well, knew. I had confronted him about possibly hiring people to follow me, different people every time so that I wouldn't catch on, but he said that he didn't and I can always tell when he lies, and he wasn't lying. He was concerned at first but he eventually forgot about it since he found no evidence that anyone was following me at all. And to answer your first question, I didn't find it relevant until recently...since it's been happening much more often, and quite frankly, it's distracting me" Sherlock had placed his forefingers on his lips, with the rest of his fingers intertwined, a position he went in often when he was deep in thought. "Something's going to happen John, I know it."

* * *

Space can get awfully lonely, without a companion. Over his many, many years of life in this universe, the Doctor has seen just about all there is to see, and it get's quite boring without someone to show it to, precisely why he constantly chose to bring a companion or two along with him from time to time, it was always so much fun to show them all that is out there (or all that he can show them in the very little time they spend together.) It was like showing someone your favorite movie, one that you've seen a thousand times and know every line of; watching it alone for the thousandth and one time is boring and predictable, but watching it with someone who has never seen it before is exciting and fun, because you get to experience them experiencing it for the first time, which is the closest you will ever get to that first-time experience ever again.

After Rose, The Doctor didn't get the time to adjust to being alone, since Donna sort of just, jumped into his life (which was quite awkward for both of them) but she didn't want to travel with him, and honestly, that bummed The Doctor out more than he would like to admit. He liked Donna. She was smart and witty and rude at some points, and she put him in his place and called him out on things. He quite enjoyed that after being with Rose for so long, who would willingly go along with any silliness that he had happened to conjure up. Yes, Rose was smart, Rose was witty, but Rose was also in love with him, and would never question him or call him out about anything. She completely trusted him, and in the end, that was her downfall. He didn't want someone to completely trust him anymore. He wanted someone who would challenge him, and give him just as much of an adventure as he gave them...which was probably why he had been showing up around 221B Baker Street a little more often than he should be...

For quite some time now, the Doctor happened to stumble across a very curious fellow. It's happened several different times throughout his life, with many his many different faces, but it was always the same boy-er-man. Well, boy or man, it really depended on what time of his life The Doctor accidentally intruded on. It wasn't like he _meant _to continuously return to this particular person's life (until recently, of course,) the TARDIS just seemed to like the guy (though The Doctor has still yet to figure out why.) Over time, The Doctor learned that his name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was very intelligent indeed. He saw things that other people didn't, payed attention to things others looked over. Of course Sherlock thought this to be fairly simple and, at times, obvious, but to others (like his companion, John Watson) it was amazing, almost like magic.

The Doctor can still remember the first time he saw little Sherlock Holmes. He never really kept track of his regenerations but he did recall a really nice, long scarf that he was rather fond of at the time. Anyway, the TARDIS landed in some sort of manor, in a closet that could have been mistaken for a room itself. When he went off to explore and left the closet, he found himself in a dark room, the only light coming from the full moon just outside the window. It took The Doctor a while to realize the room belonged to a child. There were no toys, no childish decorations, the room looked as if it belonged to an adult, the only indication this room housed a little one was the fact that there was a child sleeping in the bed. He slept on top of the perfectly made bed, his pajamas were baggy, and his hair was a mess of tangled black curls. Not wanting to wake the child up and scare him (children did believe that monsters came out of their closets, after all) The Doctor decided to leave, confused as to why the TARDIS would bring him there. He saw Sherlock a few times after that with that same face, all when he was a child. It didn't take him long to realize that Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary child. He didn't have friends. He didn't play. He liked to watch people, and learn things, he was quiet for the most part, unless he was arguing with his older brother. He was mostly in his head, and not in the normal, childish, day-dreamy imagination way, either. He was just always thinking, and analyzing everything.

The Doctor didn't see him for a few faces. By the time he saw Sherlock in his young teenage years, The Doctor remembered taking a liking to a strange sort of sweater vest that had question marks on it. Thinking back on that now, he really didn't know _what _he was thinking wearing such a thing, but at the time it felt right. Sherlock hadn't changed much since his childhood, except of course he was taller, and (if possible) lankier, and kind of broody, in a way. The Doctor would land in the middle of London or wherever, and just happen to pass by Sherlock on the street, or in a coffee shop, or at the park. Always reading a book or writing observations down, keeping himself busy or trying to make himself look busy so no one would bother him. At this point The Doctor stopped questioning _why_ he kept seeing this boy, his interest in the young man had peaked far beyond that. Instead he decided to follow him when he happened to cross paths with him. Sure, it sounded creepy, and very unlike him, but for some reason, he could never find it in him to actually speak to the boy. "Not now," he would say to himself, "Now is not the time."

After that, The Doctor didn't seem to ever have the time to see Sherlock. With the Time War and everything, then Rose took up a lot of his time and attention, he kind of forgot about the dark haired boy for a while. That is until after Donna turned down his offer. After that, for some reason unknown even to The Doctor, he went looking for Sherlock. He went to all the old places that he saw him, but, he realized that Sherlock must have gone on with his life, and The Doctor trusted the TARDIS to find him, just like she always did. And of course, without fail, she took him just outside 221B Baker Street. The Doctor didn't know where exactly Sherlock would be, so he just waited. After about three hours, two men approached the apartment, having a heated discussion about something or another. The shorter, blond one The Doctor didn't know, but it was pretty much impossible for him not to recognize Sherlock Holmes. He was at least a foot taller than when he saw him last, his hair was the same messy, black curls and his style was dark, yet simple and sophisticated, pretty much the same as always. He was most likely in his thirties now, though he was aging quite gracefully. Still, for some reason, it was not the time to talk to him.

The Doctor didn't want to move on and do something else. Almost every day he sought to see Sherlock, and learn about his life from afar. He was a sort of famous detective now, not so surprising. The only real friend he seemed to have was John Watson, which was only surprising because The Doctor hadn't expected the man to have any real friends at all. He hadn't changed much at all since the last time he saw him, except he was somehow even more intelligent and witty and smart-mouthed than he was before, and the urge to try and make Sherlock his companion was getting stronger and stronger.

Soon. Soon it will be time_, _but he can't just go up and strike a random conversation with him, no. Sherlock had to find _him._


	2. Chapter 2

"For the love of god, Sherlock, Please just go to sleep!" John said with a yawn as he tiredly slumped into the living room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he did so. It was four in the morning, and this was the fifth time Sherlock has woken John up tonight. First, it was at midnight, about an hour after John had gotten to sleep. He heard some sort of clanking coming from the kitchen, so he assumed Sherlock was just making himself some tea to help get to sleep. Of course, he should have realized that wasn't the case, as Mrs. Hudson was the one who made Sherlock his tea. In fact, John has never seen Sherlock make his own tea in the entire time he has known him, but his tired mind wasn't thinking so logically, so he just went back to sleep. Thirty minutes later, he was awoken again by the sound of glass breaking and a horrible smell. He was about to get out of bed to see what happened, but Sherlock, as if sensing John's consciousness, shouted, "Just dropped a beaker, John, nothing to worry about!" John sighed, knowing that Sherlock always did weird chemical experiments when he was bored, and he did usually clean up after himself, so he just went back to sleep. The third time he woke up was due to Sherlock barging into his room and muttering something about needing...well, something. To be honest John just turned over and put his pillow over his head, and refused to listen to anything Sherlock was saying. An hour after that he woke up to Sherlock stomping around the apartment. That probably wouldn't have woken him up normally, but since he had waken up so many times already, his body was just sort of expecting something to wake him up. John shouted at Sherlock to knock it off, and the stomping stopped soon after with no reply, and john went back to sleep once again. He got to sleep a little longer after that, but this time, it was the last straw. Sherlock began to play his violin. Who plays the violin at four in the morning?! That brings us to now, with John sleepily glaring at his roommate, and Sherlock standing by the window in his robe, continuing to play his violin. He either didn't hear John or, more likely, wasn't listening to him.

John was losing his patience. He was very tired, and he just wanted to be able to sleep until he was ready to wake up. "SHERLOCK!" He shouted over the violin, knowing that there was no way Sherlock could just ignore him, and he was right. Sherlock stopping playing almost instantly and he turned around to face John.

"What?!" he snapped, which caught John off guard. Usually Sherlock was pretty calm, and he wasn't used to being snapped at. John looked Sherlock over. He looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes, he was obviously very tired and still partially in his mind, which was probably why he didn't react to John at first. He appeared to have been biting his fingernails, since some of his fingers were actually bleeding. His usual erect posture was slumped, and worn out, and he looked like he could faint at any moment. It had been about a week since Sherlock had told John about how someone was following him, and it looked like he hadn't eaten or slept since then. John had never seen Sherlock like this, and he was absolutely stunned for a moment. "Well? What is it?!" Sherlock said, sounding impatient.

John was so ready to tell Sherlock off, to tell him to just knock off whatever he was doing and just go to sleep already, but seeing his friend like this really put him off. "Are-are you okay?" he asked. "You look terrible, have you even slept?"

"Sleep is irrelevant, John."

"Have you eaten anything at all? What is going on with you?"

"Food isn't important either, John, I'm fine, I just...I just can't figure this out!" Sherlock threw his violin to the floor and dropped into the closest chair to him. He rubbed his face with his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, gripped his black locks, and rocked back and forth slightly, muttering so quickly and quietly that John had no idea what he was going on about. John was absolutely stunned. Sherlock was seriously bothered, which John didn't understand. If this person had been following Sherlock around his whole life like Sherlock had said, then why was it just now starting to really get to him? John voiced this question, and Sherlock finally looked up and stopped pulling at his hair. "_Because, _John, before it would happen once in a while, maybe once a week at the most, but it would go away, it wasn't persistent, but now, now its all the time! Every day, everywhere I go, even here! I can't figure out who it is or where they are, I just, I just _know _he's out there, following me, watching me, it's driving me crazy, John! It's not even like this person has any sort of malicious intentions or anything, I would know if it was something like that, but it's not, he's just there. WHAT DOES HE WANT?" Sherlock stood up and paced around. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his robe and put one in his mouth, instantly lighting it and inhaling for a good ten seconds. The pack was already almost empty, and John noticed several other empty packs around on the floor. Normally John would have scolded Sherlock over smoking, but at this point, he was just glad that Sherlock wasn't reverting back to drugs.

"Maybe he wants you to find him?" John suggested.

"What? That's ridiculous! Why would he want me to find him? A person who is watching someone else typically doesn't want to be found, John."

John sighed. "Maybe you shouldn't think of the typical in this situation, Sherlock. This person has been following you your whole life, but have never contacted you in any way whatsoever. You are sure that there is no ill intent behind what he is doing, but you don't really know what his actual intention is. The only way to find out is to find him and confront him. And if it's been happening more often, then he might slip up, might make himself more noticeable now that it's happening out all the time. Just pay more attention to the people around you for once."

"I always pay attention to the people around me," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Sure, you pay attention to little details about people. But what about that time I introduced you to a date, then a week later she came over again and you had no idea who she was?"

"Well I don't really care to remember faces of unimportant people." John didn't even have to say anything. He just looked at Sherlock with his eyebrows raised. "Okay, I understand what you're getting at, you don't have to look at me like that." To Sherlock, pretty much everyone was an unimportant person. He wouldn't recognize a face if it saw it every single day. Heck, for the longest time he wouldn't even recognize Molly if she wasn't with a dead person. "Alright. I supposed I'm going to have to start paying attention then. But you're going to have to help me."

* * *

The Doctor was pacing the TARDIS, occasionally flipping his sonic screwdriver into the air then catching it. "Why hasn't he found me yet?" he kept muttering to himself. Sherlock was an incredibly smart man, he has found the culprits to the many cases that he has solved, but for some reason he was having trouble finding what was practically under his nose. What was taking him so long? These past few days, The Doctor noticed that Sherlock was looking more tired, worn down, almost. The Doctor was confused by this. He was sure that Sherlock knew that he was following him, and that he's been around for a long time, but he wasn't really doing much of anything to find him. The detective passed by the TARDIS practically every day and didn't even give it a second glance. At one point, The Doctor even bumped directly into him. Sherlock just muttered to watch where he was going and continued on his way, not even looking at him. Perhaps he wasn't making himself obvious enough. Maybe he should just talk to him, introduce himself and explain everything? No. For some reason, The Doctor felt that Sherlock needed to find him. Sherlock was the type that needed a challenge.

The Doctor was becoming a little stir crazy. He hadn't stayed in one place and time for this long in a very long time. He had to do _Something _to move this along, and quick, because if he didn't, he might just give up. Maybe Sherlock didn't want to find him... Or, he just didn't know that he was _supposed _to find him. "That's it!" The Doctor exclaimed suddenly, then he ran to find a piece of paper. After scribbling a few words down, he quickly started pushing buttons and pulling levers, running all around the console of the TARDIS in excitement. Within a few moments, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He grabbed the piece of paper and exited the TARDIS, and ended up in a closet large enough to be a room... It had been a long time since he's been here. If his calculations were correct-and if the TARDIS complied-he was right back to the exact time he first saw Sherlock. Well, not exactly, of course he didn't want to run into himself being there, so it was a little while after his past regeneration left. Quietly, he sneaked out of the closet and made his way to the boy's bed, and there he was, laying on top of the covers, his black hair all tousled and sleeping as soundly as he could. It was strange looking at this child, knowing the man he was to become. He smiled lightly, and set the piece of paper on the night stand next to his bed. "I hope this works..." The Doctor muttered as quietly as possible. Then, before he woke up the boy, he made his way back to his TARDIS, and back to Sherlock's current time.

**(Hello! I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update, I do have a job and am pregnant so things can get a little busy! Anyway, I'm glad some of you like my story! Thank you so much for your reviews, I hope to get more parts out soon, and hopefully Sherlock and The Doctor will finally interact :) Thanks again for reading!)**


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